


Christmas Carol / Adding The Blue

by SourisSouris



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Christmas, F/M, Gifts, Love, Painting, Reconciliation, Sex, Sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourisSouris/pseuds/SourisSouris
Summary: "I know we said that we weren't going to exchange gifts but..."***Christmas is hard nowI see you every-damn-whereI f*cking miss you...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody's asking where did you go?  
> This was gonna be my masterpiece  
> The paint's not even dry yet, oh no  
> I could trace the outline of a shadow  
> I need blood, breath  
> To mix my colours...
> 
> Where did you go  
> After you promised me a portrait  
> Took off your clothes, held a pose  
> Drawing your arms, your hands and veins  
> And fingers and your lips  
> Your broken nose...  
> Oh your eyes, just stare into the distance...  
> Please don't move, whatever you do  
> While I'm adding the blue
> 
> Closed this chapter yesterday  
> Take this page and throw it away  
> Fill the holes in, sand the walls  
> You were never here at all...  
> The warmth where someone never stood  
> Promises were never good  
> The smell of human sweat and tears  
> A passing thought, the passing years...
> 
> Chrissie Hynde ~ Adding The Blue  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MewILDudQo

They did not put up a tree this year. Or decorate. Or do any of the preparations that would only remind them that there were no children whose eyes would reflect the lights of the tree and the wonder of Christmas. There was no wonder left. The last spark of Mulder's eternal curiosity and foolish belief had vanished so long ago that she couldn't quite remember, but she could still recall the _look_ in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the way it made her feel – all tingly and beautiful, even after all these years. The way he looked at her could make her feel young again, full of promise, as if his eyes alone were pouring life into her, colouring in her lines...

But these days there are no colours left, either. Where there used to be a glimmer of hope, however ephemeral, to light up the darkness surrounding them for as long as they both can remember, all that was left now was shadow-light; his shadow still hovering over her the way it always had, his shoulders awkwardly slumped, as if ready to swoop down on her and curl around her frail form - and yet, there was no warmth, no heart, no hope left. The once bright eyes that used to be her beacon and her anchor, speaking the truths to her that only they knew, grew hollow, veiled over by sorrow, and she's learnt to avoid them in order to prevent them from leading her ship astray, crashing into a rock, breaking her heart over and over again, much like she has learnt to avoid her own reflection, fearing the emptiness that would look back at her, the fire of her eyes, once burning bright with fierce passion that he had fallen for so hard, now just as dead and turning into ashes as fast as the last streaks of redness in her hair...

Time has certainly not been kind to either of them.

Of course there really is no need for a tree when there are no neatly wrapped presents to open. They had made a deal not to exchange Christmas gifts a long long time ago... then broke it over and over again, until it broke them...

There were times when the only gifts they gave each other were shy stolen kisses under the unlikely mistletoe and secret messages whispered on each other's skin with trembling fingers, nervous, feather-light and cold like the falling snow – and yet leaving scorching marks that would never really quite go away...

Even years after they were no longer with the bureau, no longer fugitives, just two people coming home at night, they never seemed to have shaken off the habit of looking over their shoulders during their days and at night they would turn to each other to seek comfort in hasty love-making in secretive silence, with the lights off, as if even that last refuge of theirs could be taken away from them, spilled blood-red on the ground...

\---

The slap comes as unexpected to her as it does to him and as much of a cliché as it is, it does hurt her more than it does him. Her hand stings with sharp pain that doesn't quite register until she sees it reflected in his face - those ever-so-innocent, ever-so-weary mossy eyes widened with shock and hurt and... something else – something beyond the obvious, that she can't quite put a finger on, but it seems familiar, so familiar, and all she knows it that it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it f*cking hurts – and not just her hand, not the clear five-finger-mark blossoming on his cheek, the emptiness, the cold of this house, their bed, not even slept in anymore, their hearts, worn so thin they threaten to shatter into myriads of tiny shards, like the Ice-Queen from the picture book that is still tucked away somewhere on the bottom of the treasure chest in a room that she never dares enter anymore...

THIS. This kind of pain. Insufferable. And yet - they both have suffered through it for so long. And somehow they've managed to push through. Until now. Until last year. Until the moment when it stopped mattering, along with everything else.

Everything that's lacking.

Everything they have lost.

Everything they never had.

Or never dared to have...

And what little they still do have.

Each other.

This moment in time when they're standing facing each other in the cold room with peeling walls and dusty furniture and finally _seeing_ each other again. After such a long time. Taking each other in. They are still here. And they still only have the other. Or what's left of them...

He doesn't wince. He doesn't budge. He humbly accepts and absorbs her anger, almost welcoming it - like a _penance_ , she thinks. That's what it is. An act of repentance, accepting his ever-present guilt, while her forgiveness is being delivered through the rawest, most powerful emotion. Anger pent up over years of self-denial, self-sacrifice and overall despair.

 _F*ck all that_ , she's thinking as she lifts her clenched fists to pound into his chest, over and over again, _and f*ck him!_ – Her fists suddenly relax and drop to her sides when she feels his strong fingers gripping at her shoulders, his arms pulling her into him, and she finally gives up, falling onto his broad chest, not even trying to hold back her tears anymore, clawing hard at his back – to feel him close... But a part of her, the hurting one, still wants to hurt him back, wound him into _feeling_ – feeling something, anything, even pain, _damnit_.

And there it is - at last, the pain, their faithful companion, pouring out of him and into her, taking root in her heart, where it’s always belonged, and blossoming in her chest, sharp and strangely warm, like fresh blood trickling from a wound, the one that keeps reopening every time she looks into his sorrow-ridden eyes and sees William’s baby blues on his greenish grey. The deep yearning tingles in her fingertips, blindly searching for his, finding them reaching for hers and squeezing gently, their touch shy and tentative like in the beginning...

And then it all rushes in – the strange allure and shyness of their first days, the ever-present fear, the threat of losing each other always looming, their inexplicable bond pulling them together and tearing them apart as raw desire burst through their precisely built walls of self-defence...

And then his lips are on hers again, burning hot and cold at the same time, scorching and soothing, his tongue slipping easily into her mouth, feeling her slight resistance only momentarily, before her hands reach up to cup his face and pull him into her, closer, deeper, her nails scraping his scalp, her breath catching as she whispers his name against his lips – a calling of hope, always, always hope.

She can feel him shiver and then hears a heart-shattering sob and yet it's alright, it suddenly alright – yes, they are broken, so very broken, but they still have each other... There’s comfort in knowing that their bodies still fit into each other, the way she melts under his suddenly eager hands, her body all angles and sharp lines, but her skin still so soft and burning red wherever he touches her, her eyes still shying away from his as she curls into him, urging him on, suddenly needing to feel him close, closer, his skin on hers, his lips... But he stills her restless hands with his, not letting her make this just an easy escape again.

“ _Mulder_...” she tries to protest, but her voice trails off under the ministrations of his tongue on her neck and when he whispers her name back it comes out in short breaths: “ _Scully.... Dana...”_

She softens in his embrace and lets him pick her up, hold her close as he smoothes her long hair along her shoulders and carries her upstairs, her arms locked firmly around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder while he never stops kissing her, fondling her face with his nose, his stride long and determined.

\---

The bedroom is cold, immaculate, as nobody sleeps here anymore, and she catches a waft of her lavender fabric softener as he gently eases her on the covers, reaching blindly in the dark to turn on the bedside lamp. Her eyes close instinctively and he places a tender kiss on each of her eyelids.

“I want... I _need_ to see you,” he says hoarsely, not loud, but with a kind of urgency that sends shivers all through her body. How could she ever believe that she would be able to say “ _no_ ” to him....?

“ _I am here_ ,” she whispers back, her arms reaching for his, pulling him in.

It’s just three simple words, but right now they mean more than all of the other words they’d ever uttered in their desperate hours – “ _Trust no one_ ”, “ _The truth is in you_ ”, “ _The world didn’t end_ ”, “ _Don’t give up_ ”, “ _He’s yours_ ”...

They all flash through his mind as he leans over to claim her, first her mouth, then the column of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breasts, taking his time on each of them before moving on to her stomach, her white skin glowing in the shadow-light of the room. His hands busy exploring her folds, he still keeps checking her eyes for her reaction, making sure that she’s still with him.

Her eyes are soft and wet and naked under his and he’s falling deep into them the way he always has, falling into her, filling her with all of him, his colours blossoming in her cheeks, taking away her blues and replacing them with reds – little splotches on her neck and chest, the jet-black ink of her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as her eyes close momentarily – and he almost panics at the loss of contact with her, his breath catching in his throat before he can say anything, his movements stilling for a heartbeat, before her eyes and her lips open wide again and his name comes out on a ragged breath...

“ _Fox_... I’m not... I’m not going anywhere...”

Her hands reach out for him in reassurance and then she’s coming... coming quietly with a shiver, falling apart in his arms tightening around her as he follows, joining her as they come together, suddenly freed of all the pain and guilt and heartache... She's coming down to him, slow and soft and feather-light like the snowflakes falling endlessly behind the window suddenly fogged over by their mingled breath.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her eyes repenting, her gentle fingers fluttering over his swollen cheek, tracing and soothing his burning bruise.

“Me too,” he mouths back, burying his face in her chest, taking comfort in her strong, steady heartbeat. He can’t remember a time when he felt this safe, this content. Despite everything.

“So very sorry.”

There’s silence. Not the frightening, chilling kind. This time it’s warm. Filled with promises again, whispered against each other’s skin.

He is the one to break it first and she is thankful.

“See, the world _still_ didn’t end,” he says and she realizes how much she had missed hearing his voice. She tells him so. He smiles, his breath tickling her breast and making her skin break into goose-bumps again. He pulls the comforter over them as he feels her shiver and it lies softly like the snow-banks outside. They are getting snowed in – inside and out.

\---

“ _Merry Christmas, Katherine,_ ” he whispers into her mouth and lets go of her for just as long as he needs to reach into the bedside table to retrieve a neatly wrapped package in a shape of a tube.

She props herself up on an elbow and smiles at him, a happy, genuine smile of her much younger self, the memory of a Christmas of 20 years ago sparkling in her eye.

“ _I know we said that we weren't going to exchange gifts but..._ ”

She chuckles and his eyes soften, even beyond the tenderness that’s already been filling them all night and making her heart soar.

“ _Mulder_...” she starts to protest, but he stops her with a gentle finger on her mouth, followed immediately by his lips.

“Open it up!” he urges and she dares not not to oblige.

She tears at the wrapping with trembling fingers, releasing a scroll of paper. She gives him a questioning eyebrow, but he says nothing, his face an enigma, just his goofy grin a proof that he remembers, too.

She unrolls it ceremoniously, holding it in front of her at arms-length like the ten commandments, and he can see her face change, a look of surprise and wonder coming over it as he holds his breath, praying that it’s a good thing.

Her eyes fly up from the paper to meet his, his gaze anchor-steady as an ocean wave of blue pours over him. He got it right. He knows now.

“ _Mulder_ ,” she whispers again in disbelief, her fingers running numbly over what he knows are the delicate contours of her own face on the paper.

“ _Merry Christmas, Scully_ ,” he repeats again, pulling her closer to him, careful not to crumple the paper.

“This is... it’s just...” she chokes, feeling the tears creep into her voice again... “it’s _beautiful_ ,” she manages to get out, amazement lacing her last word.

“It’s _you_ ,” he says gently, tipping her face to look at her, look at her fully again, as if to compare her features to the ones on the paper - a few distinct lines of her cheekbones, her sharp chin, her long eyelashes... The red stain of her lips, the deep blue of her eyes and the light shade of her hair... There is no other blue in the picture beyond her eyes. No more blue in her face when he looks at her now. There are only shadows of red on white, the blood coursing through her veins underneath the pale skin reflecting a distant memory of her fiery hair.

Suddenly she feels humbled and embarrassed, she didn’t even think of getting him a present this year, she was too busy trying to _not_ think about him at all...

“But I... I didn’t get you anything,” she says regretfully, but he stops her, shaking his head.

“ _You_ ,” he starts and his voice trails off just there... Just being able to address her and have her look back at him, hanging on his every word, listening to him, it still means so much to him, as much as it ever has...

“ _You_ gave me _everything_. Just _now_...”

He pauses to trace her body – first with his eyes, then his hands, then his lips. He can feel her respond to him, the way she always had, and just that alone is all he wants or needs right now. Just her. Here. With him. Like this.

“ _Please don’t go..._ ”

She shakes her head, imperceptibly, her eyes never leaving his.

“ _I am right here_ ,” she repeats and he’s thinking that he may never grow tired of hearing those words... Her hands are still in his hair, playing with it, gently soothing, her chin resting on the crown of his head. He likes the reversed roles. He likes everything about this. A lot.

It’s snowing softly and the world’s gone quiet. Soon the church bells will announce that a baby was born in Bethlehem and the mankind has been saved, even if for a little while. They will fall asleep wrapped into each other, finally at peace. Maybe he was right after all. Maybe there _is_ hope.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this has been inspired by a combination of the song quoted - Adding the Blue, and the fascinating art of David Downton http://www.daviddownton.com/portraiture/


End file.
